


Nothing Suspicious

by bloodandcream



Series: Ship all the Ships [122]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, F/M, Knifeplay, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:39:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6926740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a muggy summer night out, but she still shivers, jeans around her ankles, shirt half ripped off. “I was just looking for Dean. Hadn’t heard from him for a while.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Suspicious

It’s late at night, has to be past midnight, and they’re parked on the side of a two lane road that’s flanked by fields as far as the eye can see. It’s still noisy as hell. Crickets, an owl - maybe a few - and what sounds like bullfrogs. Is there even a pond or a river nearby? Jo has no idea. Most of that’s just a buzzing around her head, fuzzy static, the sound of her own breathing rushing loud and that’s all she hears.

In and out. Steady. There’s the clink of a belt buckle. The car’s shocks squeaking as he yanks her jeans down. Take a deep breath. In, out.

The hood of his car is still warm under her back. His brother’s car, his car. Whatever. Her ass, bare, shoved up higher, makes a strange high sound as he pushes her. The bite of his knife is cold against her neck. And Jo stays very, very still.

“You don’t want to do this, Sam.”

He’s got her beat, physically, words are really all she’s got left. Jo doesn’t even think for a second that it’ll work.

“I do, actually. Thanks for the concern.”

She focuses on her breathing when he twists a hand in her shirt at the collar, rips down, buttons popping and he pulls it half off. Knife still at her throat.

“What did you think you were going to find following me, Jo?”

It’s a muggy summer night out, but she still shivers, jeans around her ankles, shirt half ripped off. “I was just looking for Dean. Hadn’t heard from him for a while.”

“Really? Because I think, the first place you would ask after him would be Bobby. And Bobby would tell you he died. So why would you come looking for me?”

Why did she come looking for him? Bobby was worried about him, that much was clear even if he didn’t say it in so many words. Mom didn’t want her meddling, of course. Jo wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Or why. But there was something wrong about Sam. Something bad in him, hard and cold like the knife at her throat, and she knew in her gut with a sour-sick clench that he was different.

Jo’d seen something like it before. Something else, really, a demon that had crawled up inside him and made him do bad, bad things. She’d already splashed holy water on him this time. This was all Sam, but Sam was… something else. He was cruel and he was vicious.

And the worst part was, it made her pulse race and her breath catch. Just like then. Like when he’d slammed her head into a bar and tied her to a post and Jo was so fucking pissed off, but there was something else there too. Something hot and tight squirming through her gut. Something hungry and wanting.

It was all wrong. And she could deny it all she like. But Jo could appreciate a guy that could hold her down, weather her fury, look so fucking good with her nail scratches raked across his face and blood dripping from his nose where she’d head-butted him.

Yeah. That was Sam.

Why did she come looking for him. Whether it was for Dean, or for him, there was only one answer. “I just wanted to help.”

He laughed. Shoulders shaking, knife pressing a little too hard against the soft flesh of her throat until Jo felt a sting and a trickle of wet sliding down. He glared at her, hair sleek in the moonlight, shadows cast across his face, and he smiled. “There are a lot of things you can help with. But I don’t think finding Dean, is one of them.”

Jo’s thighs were spread, knees at Sam’s hips, resting back on the hood of the Impala on her elbows. She wouldn’t lay back until Sam pressed the knife tighter against her throat. She wanted to. Jo was hovering at the cusp of panic, half hoping for a dash of headlights to cross their scene and startle Sam so she could push back, half hoping that he’d laugh it off and say it was just a joke - maybe he’s trying to scare her so she’d go running back to her momma - and there’s just sliver in there, just a little, wanting him closer. She’s so fucking turned on when he brushes against her legs, she can feel her pussy ache.

“So what else do you want, Sam?”

It’s obvious, isn’t it. Should be, to both of them. But he’s still dressed, leaning over her, questioning.

Then fingers slide across the inside of her thigh and Jo shivers, slide up higher and she gasps, press into the slick of her pussy - just at the outside, just barely. But yeah, doesn’t take a mindreader.

“I think you know.”

Jo doesn’t expect what he does next. Sharp tip of the knife-blade pressed into the skin at the base of her throat and dragged shallowly down, along the top of her chest, turned in and scraped. It doesn’t feel like anything for a second. Blade so sharp, the pressure barely registers. Then the heat settles, the sting, singing down into her flesh and Jo bites back a whimper. Looking at it, neck straining down, there’s a thin red line from her collar bone almost to a nipple, blood dripping near black in the moonlight along the curve of her breast. She shakes a little, holds herself up.

When Sam curls over her and laps a hot tongue up the length of the cut, Jo can’t keep herself up. Falling back on the hood, growing cold, she groans as her eyes roll back and Sam tongues at the wound. Laps it up and latches his teeth onto her neck, sucking bruises and shoving his hips between her legs, bulge pressed through rough denim and Jo’s hips jerk.

Fuck. She knows Dean’s death must be hard on Sam but this is, there’s something not right about this.

Clouds pass over the moon, night growing dim, chirrup of insect and animal life around them still thrumming and Jo can’t even hear her own breath now. It’s just the dull bass of her heartbeat in her own ears. Sam stroking a broad hand down her waist and shoving her thigh wider, higher. The sharp blade of his knife resting against her belly before he jerks with a quick flick and there’s a line of fire beside her belly button, blood dripping wet.

Jo dares to clutch at him, pull his hair, sink her nails into his shoulders.

“Sam….”

It’s almost a question, she’s not really sure what she’s asking.

His mouth answers trailing hot down her chest and sucking at the blood he’s pulled from her, weight and bulk keeping her pressed to the car while he’s distracted.

“Sam…”

It’s a demand, and she can’t really say for what but while he’s got her, here, alone, bested - it’s what she’s got.

His mouth answers dipping between her legs to suck the wetness from her cunt and the flat of his cold knife rests at the inside of a thigh as he bites so hard that Jo screams.

“Sam, fuck!”

Jo cries out when his knife cuts into the tender skin of her thigh, but he’s rising, eyes dark, lips stained. Knife still in a hand, he jerks his pants open with the other, grabs her hips and hefts her down like she’s nothing. Fucks up into her and Jo screams. Clutches at his broad shoulders, legs wrapped around his narrow waist, the cuts along her chest tearing as she arches up.

He grasps one wrist, pulls it above her head and pins it against the car, knife hilt between them. The other hand holds her hips as he slams into her, rocking the car. He’s too huge, it hurts just to take him, makes her belly seize with cramps when he slams his hips in flush. She’s so fucking wet, body alight with sensation and it’s not even enough somehow.

It’s almost expected, with his face a few inches from hers, watching, that he might lean down and press his lips to her. Maybe Jo has thought about it. Not like this, she never expected this. But sometimes…. different ways. Right now, though, it’s almost expected. He never does, cruel eyes watching her as he snaps his hips in deep and fast, but there’s blood on his lips and it drips. Down onto her nose, into the space between her lips when she gasps. Her own blood. Smeared across his cheeks and chin.

Bitter on her tongue, Jo clamps her mouth shut. He’s still got his shirt on and it rubs into the cuts he’s made across his chest. Instead of bending down to kiss her, he curls over her and closes his mouth on a nipple. Thrashing under him, all sharp teeth and hard muscle, Jo squeezes her eyes shut and digs her fingers into his arms. Urges him on. Skin stuck to the metal of the hood under her. Ankles crossed behind Sam’s back, she lifts her hips up as he thrusts in and with every bite, every shivery rush of hot breath across fresh cuts, he winds her tighter. Drawing a shaky breath, Jo shoves a hand between their bodies and rubs her clit. He pulls back, smirking, fucking even faster into her if that were possible.

Letting her pinned hand go, Sam drags the knife back to her throat. Jo goes still, absolutely, holding on and right fucking there, but he keeps her down and he keeps her complacent. Shuddering with deep breaths and rocking with the force of him, burning with the pain and aching, Jo bites her lip and lets her body go lax to it. Takes it all in. Gets lost beneath the tow and rushes with the current, surging and rolling and so so so right as she comes while Sam presses the knife to her throat and climaxes inside her.

Panting, limbs aching, splayed on the hood of the Impala, Jo shoves Sam away.

“What the fuck...”

Rearing back, and she swears he almost looks affronted, Sam swipes his knife against his jeans and tucks it into the sheath around his belt as he pulls his pants up.

“I’m gonna take you back,” he says, “And you’re going to go home, tell Ellen everything is fine, and never contact me again.”

“Sam…”

There’s almost concern in her voice. Jo tries to keep it out. He’s seriously freaking her out though. Takes a step back, tucks himself in and smooths everything over like it didn’t just happen.

“Nothing happened. Jo. Understood?”

Sliding off the hood of the car with a wince and trying not to show it, Jo pulls her jeans up. She’s wet and tacky but she pretends not to notice. Her shirt’s mostly a lost cause, wraps it around her, cami underneath good enough. Hair tangled and barely enough to keep the chill off her neck, Jo frowns at him and scowls.

“Yeah. I understand you.”

Sam huffs. “Seriously. You don’t fucking understand what’s going on. So don’t pretend to. Just go home, Jo.”

Blood soaks through her shirt, and she defiantly does not pay any mind to it. “I got you, Sam. Nothing suspicious here.”


End file.
